Pensieve
by prettypinklips
Summary: "We could skip dinner and go straight to dessert." / Klaroline, complete.


**Pensieve**

* * *

In New Orleans, Caroline stands before him with a white flag. A surrender. She's ready. Finally. She knows the world now; all the blood and the wreckage that make up the endless timeline of her life.

She remembers that he had told her they were the same once.

She remembers that she hated him for saying it. Because they were nothing alike.

She remembers how it had ate at her for so long, until a day came that it didn't. And he didn't.

Didn't turn her inside out and make her want to bleach her brain for ever daring to think of what they could be late at night when she was alone.

His smile is saccharine as he approaches her; a victory. He takes her hand like he'd been expecting her, and kisses her like he'll never let her go.

* * *

In Brazil, his fingers sweep her hair from her neck.

The necklace he wraps around her throat is gold and strung with rubies. She imagines it belonged to a long lost queen, forgotten over the centuries. And now it was hers. His touch lingers against her skin, his eyes on hers in the floor length mirror from where he stands behind her.

"You should know by now that I can't be bought." She teases with a smile (she was already his, anyway). Her fingers brush over a ruby, transfixed. His gifts were always perfect.

"I'm aware." Klaus says, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "It's lovely on you." His hands wrap around her elbows, holding her to him. Her eyes close when one hand slides to her hip, fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress.

She turns in his arms, looping her own around his neck. She surveys him, black on black and a mop of dirty blonde curls. He was out to impress tonight. "We're going to be late for dinner." She says, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"We could skip dinner and go straight to dessert." His lips ghost along the column of her throat. He squeezes her hips, pulling her closer. As if she wasn't already plastered against him.

"Persuade me." She draws a finger down his chest to his buckle, and oh, he does.

* * *

In Switzerland, she helps him hunt down a pack of rogue, murderous werewolves. Snow falls around them layering into a thick white blanket as darkness and shining stars swirl above them. The snow is quickly stained red, howls of pain filling the air.

She punches her hand through a wolf's chest as it leaps from the shadows at her, coming away with a heart and slick wet sound. She thinks that might be the last one, straining her ears to listen for any others.

Klaus melts from the trees then, his hands and mouth as bloody as hers. She senses the electricity rolling off of him, the thrill of the hunt.

She feels it too, a low rumble beneath her feet as he comes closer to her. His eye are hungry, excited. Her back meets a tree as he advances. Her body thrums with excitement. They've been here before.

"Don't rip my shirt this time." She says before his mouth takes hers and he hikes her leg over his hip.

* * *

In Paris, she tells him she loves him for the first time and watches his smile light like the New Years Eve fireworks exploding above them.

* * *

In Vienna, they spend twelve days in their hotel room; chocolate covered strawberries, the finest wines, his arm squeezing her waste so tightly she thinks they might meld into one being.

* * *

In Prague, he shows her the Picasso exhibit and her heart is so full it's almost spilling over.

* * *

In London, he slams the door to their flat so loudly she's afraid the whole building will tumble down on her.

She is angry at him, today. For being terrible. For being perfect. For loving her too much and too well. He makes it so hard to turn her back, though he'd let her. He'd let her run far and wide from him.

But only so he could hunt her down, mount her on his wall like a trophy. She's afraid she might be in too deep to ever get out now.

So, she lets him go. Doesn't chase him down the front steps like she usually would when she couldn't stand to fight with him any longer.

When he returns, he is so soft and apologetic that she forgets all her thoughts of leaving and lets him pull her into a dance in the kitchen.

(It had scared him too, when she didn't follow him.)

 _Don't leave, don't ever leave_ , he whispers into her neck that night. A mantra.

* * *

In Milan, Elena calls while Klaus is gone on a weekend trip to visit his family. She chirps out a happy hello when she answers, but the phone drops from her hand and clatters onto the ground a moment later.

Bonnie is dead at seventy three.

She cries so hard she can't see, her hands shaking around a bottle of whiskey. Klaus finds her there on the floor two days later, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her up. She thinks she sobs out Bonnie's name, but maybe it's just gibberish.

He strips her and puts her into the shower. Her hands grasp at him, pulling him in fully clothed with her. "Just hold me," she whispers, "just put me back together."

* * *

In Mystic Falls, Stefan and Elena hug her tightly. Damon hangs back, his eyes sad. Matt is there, Jeremy is there. Alaric rests in a grave four rows from Bonnie.

"I'm so happy we're all here." She says, looking around at the friends she holds so close to her heart. She hugs Matt extra tightly, knowing the next time she visits will be for his funeral.

Bonnie's service is beautiful, and her children let them each have a moment with the casket. She places her hand on the cold wood for just a moment, whispers her love and her I miss you's.

A light breeze picks up just then, blowing her hair around her face. The air smells like Grams' cookies and Bonnie's favorite perfume.

It hurts a little bit less after that.

* * *

In Rome, he asks her where she wants to go next as she settles into bed beside him.

"Anywhere." She says, giggling as his hand slides down the inside of her bare thigh.

He picks Tokyo, and they come full circle.


End file.
